Tears
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: Peeta's parents and brothers come to say goodbye to him before he heads off to the Hunger Games. He will not appear weak before them, he will not cry, he will not cry, he WILL NOT CRY.


**Thank You, God, for everything.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Hunger Games. Thanks for reading!  
**

Peeta had - _honestly_ - never been more scared in his life. Things were going wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. Katniss's sister's name was drawn; Katniss had taken her place, _Katniss __was going into the arena_. _And so was he, and ther_e _was nothing he could do about it. _

He paced back and forth in his waiting room at the Justice Building. The door was closed behind him, leaving him alone in the dusty, ornately decorated room. He felt so out of place here, and he wanted to leave so, _so _much. But there was nothing he could do. He felt utterly powerless. He had lived his entire life, of course, with his witch of a mother in a place ruled by the Capitol, but never he had felt more despondent about his circumstances than now.

He could feel tears at the back of his eyes, the tightening of his skin, the lump in his throat, but he held back the tears when he turned to see the doorknob to the dark wood door turn. The door opened to reveal his two brothers, two stocky, tall blonds, both older, one still of reaping age. Bryce and Cort. Peeta willed his tears not to fall as they awkwardly came in, not sure what to say to their brother. Then he saw someone that made him even more quickly swallow back his tears. His mother.

His mother was shorter than him, but she held herself better than him. She scared the hell out of everyone. Peeta was surprised that people even came to their bakery, but his father made up for what his mother desperately lacked. She looked at him now with a sort of blank look. It wasn't angry, angry at the fact that her youngest son was being sent to his inevitable death. It wasn't sad, tear-streaked. Neither she nor her other sons moved to embrace the boy.

Peeta's father came in then, and he quickly went to his son and hugged him without a word. That was more than the rest of his family had given him, and Peeta clung hurriedly to his father, wanting nothing more to stay with his broken family and not be sent off with Katniss. He was going to die, he knew. He was willing to admit that. But that didn't mean that he _wanted _to.

Mr. Mellark let his son go and Peeta looked from one family member to the other. His oldest brother, Bryce, patted him on the back. "You'll . . ." he tried to say.

"Don't die at the cornucopia. Don't embarrass us, okay?" Cort, the second Mellark son, said. Peeta supposed that he was trying to cheer him up, but he couldn't bring himself to smile.

"You won't go down easily," Bryce said.

"Oh, why are you trying to delude yourselves?" Mrs. Mellark muttered, capturing the tense attention of her family. She looked directly at Peeta and said, "Well, at least District Twelve might have a victor this year."

Peeta felt a strange pang at his heart, and he felt a fleeting moment where he wanted to say something nasty to his mother. But he didn't.

"Peeta's not going to win," Bryce pointed out, not unkindly. He was always the sensible one, but the truth hurt Peeta still.

Mrs. Mellark nodded, and said, looking toward the door which led to the hall, "She's a survivor, that one."

Peeta couldn't agree more, and his sweaty hands clenched and unclenched as he tried to stay calm. She was right. Katniss would survive. She was made to survive, she-she would _dominate_. He was glad. He only wished that he didn't die by her hand.

Cort and Bryce did end up giving him bone-crushing hugs, but Peeta barely felt them. He caught sight of something in his father's hand when he pulled back. It was a white package. He hadn't seen that before.

Cort and Bryce wished him farewell when a Peacekeeper, outfitted in white armor, came along to collect the relatives and send them out. Peeta's father gave him a wave. Peeta returned it with a broken smile.

Mrs. Mellark turned on her heel and Peeta didn't say a word to her. Her words still stung, hanging around in his head. They didn't go away, even when the dark wood door slammed, leaving him in solitude.

That was just it, wasn't it? He was going to his death, and his own mother knew it. Peeta gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He turned and gripped the back of one of the sofas none of them had sat on. He tightened his grip as the tears that had threatened to come along burst out, running down his cheeks, making him wipe at his eyes and try to will them away. _Must not cry. Don't let them see. Don't. Please, don't._

But he couldn't stop them. Not even when Effie Trinket, in her heels with her bright wig and pursed lips, came to pick him up. Not when he rode with her and Katniss, _Katniss_, to the train, and not when they got out.

He didn't really care, because the nation now got to see him as he really was. He was weak. He was sad. He was miserable. And there was no hiding that.

**I know that Katniss thought Peeta's crying was tactical, but honestly, do you think he was in the waiting room trying to come up with some tears? I think he really was sad, and I think he is stronger than he appeared. He's a strong individual. Gosh, is he. Thanks for reading! Please review!**


End file.
